


Can't Tell if This is True or Dream

by oppressa



Category: Neuromancer - William Gibson
Genre: Coming In Pants, Cutting, Forced Orgasm, Hallucinations, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spreader Bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The run failed. Riviera has his way with Case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Tell if This is True or Dream

His neck aches, but he's awake, so he guesses what Riviera fired at him from Molly's fletcher wasn't hot steel. The bandages scratch. And his head hurts, in a way that's not the dex, or the beta pills he took in the Rue Jules Verne. Yet this situation's familiar, head pounding, dry mouthed, bound to a bed. Case remembers Memphis, where they crippled him. The slowly dissolving sacs of the same toxin that was Armitage's fucking leash on him. He wonders how much time he has left. He feels no different yet. If he's lucky, Armitage was lying all that time. Or Wintermute, through him. Only Molly was right, he's got bad luck. Think of the present situation.

His arms are stretched above him, his wrists in handcuffs, and he thinks, _Turing_. Maybe Turing finally caught up, came to take them all in. The world goes on. But there's another uncomfortable metallic presence against bare skin, between his knees. He raises his head as far as he can to glimpse a spreader bar. His jeans are down around his ankles. _Holy fucking shit._

“Molly?” He slurs, not really even hoping. This isn't even her idea of a joke. “You there?”

“I believe the Lady 3Jane is taking care of her.” Riviera says, from beside the bed. So this is still the Villa Straylight, as if he couldn't've told that from the pompous old decor already. “She has other concerns than just your welfare, right now.”

Case knows what that means, the first part at least. “My welfare, huh?”

Riviera nods. “Oh yes. Wasn't that what Armitage hired her for? Protection. Security. Muscle. _Force_. Most unflattering. Although I can have her here with us, if you wish.”

He shakes his head. Kicks wildly against the bar. Thrashes in general, to no avail. Just figures out how limited the movement of his useless meat body, free of any augmentations, actually is.

“The fuck are you playing at, Peter?” Flecks of spit land on his chin.

“Well. None of us were paid for this little excursion, which carried with it no small risk, as you know. I wanted Molly, of course. Pity that 3Jane seems quite taken with her. And you, you're so very pedestrian, Case, you know that? You console jockeys are all the same. Two a penny. No imagination. Still, I can see you have your uses. And your own charms, dubious as they are.”

He grimaces. “No, you were right the first time. I'm boring. A failed con artist, like you said.”

A satisfied grin, revealing perfect teeth. “You might not have been much of an amusement for the lady, as a product of the Sprawl's slums, a resident of Chiba's cheap hotels. But you do amuse me.”

“Talk to Wintermute. It'll give you my share. Tell it I said so.”

“Your friend Wintermute's gone. Left you high and dry. Maybe better this than what became of poor Corto, though. I suppose that's up to you to decide.”

“Oh please, go fuck yourself.” As soon as he says it, he realises there's quite a strong likelihood the great illusionist actually _can_.

He sighs, and produces a butterfly knife from the air. Case starts as it snaps open, but Peter only proceeds to cut off his clothes. The knife is so sharp it encounters no resistance from the thin, green cotton t-shirt, one that Molly bought him. He stays still, excepting a twitch as Riviera lays the blade against his skin, the cold, sharp point. His re-jigged system sings with fear. It's worse than when he was sat naked in front of the Turing agents, so much worse. At least their gazes were humourless, unmoved. Riviera smirks as he appraises the fake Freeside tan. He draws a straight, shallow line with the knife from Case's ribs to the pit of his stomach. Butterflies come out instead of blood. One of them lands on his belly button, flutters its wings. He grits his teeth, waiting for it to turn into a snake laying across his body, but it seems Peter isn't bringing out his full grotesque arsenal just yet. 

“I wonder if you'd like some water?” He pours what _looks_ like water from a plastic bottle into a beaker, cold and clear. Still, Case would rather trust the wet in his own mouth for now, what little there is.

“No.”

It doesn't matter. He's been distracted long enough. A scorpion's tail waves above his face. He screams, but it's too late. He's been stung. Injected with something. He goes rigid. The dex. The beta. The mycotoxin.

“What's that --”

“Sshh. Relax. You've been dragged along, mostly against your will, for weeks. Isn't it good to have a moment to breathe?”

“You tell me what that was --”

“It's not taking anything away from you, if that's what you're worried about. Might just make you a little more susceptible to suggestion, is all.”

He looks down, to see a disembodied hand palming his cock through his shorts. A woman's hand. Molly's. The fingernails red and long. The blades secreted just beneath the nails. Case's legs are held apart by the bar, strapped so tight to him he can't even twist to dislodge it.

“I've seen this act.” But he's pushing his hips up, despite the danger. “Stop it. Get _off_ me.”

“I'm not touching you, Henry.”

He decides to disregard that Riviera knows his name. There's more _pressing_ matters, right now. “Yes, you _are_.”

The scorpion crawls back from under Molly's hand, scuttling up to his chest and dividing in two, one at either nipple. The pincers clamp around the delicate flesh and Jesus it hurts more than he could ever have anticipated, the twisting and the serration of their claws like fucking forceps. He might even plead with Riviera to take them away but at the same time the pain gives him something to focus on besides Molly's deft palm stroking him mercilessly to orgasm. Then it just becomes part of the sensation, heightening the urge to give in. He shudders against the luxurious sheets. There's nothing he can do except fix his own indeterminate colour eyes on Riviera's cold grey, get lost in them. The agonising ecstasy eventually subsides and he realises, after a while, that he has come in his underwear. That's real. As are the tears that worked their way from his eyes and fell sideways, even more embarrassing because this is clearly only the start. He's unable to force down an outraged sob.

“Oh, Case.” Riviera says. “You let her walk all over you. Gotta be on your guard, with a woman like that. Not like one of your disposable Chiba whores.”

Which just goes to show he doesn't know anything. Molly never lied to him, never lead him along, always put him in the full picture, as far as she saw it. And Linda, though she may have played him, she wasn't a whore. How dare this fucking sadist make him feel guilt over Linda –

“You think it's really something special, don't you, being sick as fuck.”

“Now, now.” Riviera slaps him with his own manicured hand. Case regards it as a small victory. Ignoring the pain, he goes further.

“It's not like we didn't _know_ you would betray us. That's the kick for you, isn't it? Molly told me. You're not gonna get anything out of this. Just get it over with and fucking ICE me.”

He braces himself, but Peter doesn't hit him again. Instead he strokes Case's smarting face, thumb lingering at the corner of his mouth like a lover's touch.

“All in good time, hotshot.” He says, Molly's name for him sounding wrong. He didn't complete the run. He had one more fucking job, one that could've secured his legacy forever. “All in good time.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> mmm, pretend Molly spiking Peter's drugs to kill him didn't work, he had an antidote implanted or something  
> Edit made because I forgot Linda ripped Case off in the beginning (but to make him notice, to make him care, aw no Linda he did)  
> Title from Metallica, "One".


End file.
